Dark Laundry!
by MacBedh
Summary: There's darkfic and dark laundry. Now, there will be dark!laundry!fic. How much trouble can Mac get into just doing his laundry? How dark can the laundry get? This is a reader participation WIP. Join in at your own risk!
1. For whom the phone rings

_A/N: A cheerfully absurd conversation with my partner on the absence of dark!laundry!fic led to this questionably auspicious beginning. Where it will end . . . I thought of doing it as a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, but that wasn't quite manageable. Instead, we'll try this approach. Because the world clearly needs dark!laundryfic. Or darklaundry!fic. Or dark!laundry!fic._

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**~ Not Yet Titled ~**

-x-**  
**

Strains of cheerfully twangy music nudged MacGyver out of sleep, and he opened one eye and watched the sun heroically setting on his TV as the credits rolled on one of his favorite Westerns. Outside, the day was bright and clear – there'd been a strong wind off the ocean all night, and the smog had been blown inland and scattered, leaving the sky a clean pale blue. A fresh breeze still carried the smell of the Pacific into Mac's living room, through the open windows of the houseboat. He could hear seagulls squabbling out on the dock.

Life might, just possibly, get better than this, but not by much. A lazy day stretched before him: nothing he actually had to do, and plenty of time to do whatever he wanted, beginning with watching TV. He could putter around if he liked – his motorcycle needed an oil change and there was always something worth doing with the cars. The very pretty new neighbor three houseboats down had dropped a few hints about needing odd jobs done, and based on the smells that came from her kitchen on a regular basis, the offer of dinner wouldn't be hard to accept. He did, eventually, need to get groceries: he was out of fresh fruit and the sprouts in the fridge had sprouted. And sooner or later, he was going to have to get caught up on his laundry: he was wearing his last clean white T-shirt, the oldest and thinnest of the lot, and his hamper was overflowing.

But that could wait. Pete was out of the country and Mac's next assignment was already settled and wouldn't start for a week, so he was safe from interruptions.

He'd just decided to put another Western into the VCR when the telephone rang.

- x -

Should MacGyver:

answer the phone himself?

let the answering machine pick it up?

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_To participate, leave your answer in a review, or go to my Livejournal at bethinexile and vote in the poll there. The direct link is in my ff dot net profile. You do not have to have a LiveJournal account to vote (although I reserve the right to discount the votes of anyone who tries to sell me cheap electronics in the comment thread).  
_

_~Beth_


	2. a swift exit

_A/N: The answering machine won, although it was close for a while there._**  
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**~ Part 2 ~**

- x -**  
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The phone continued to beep shrilly, and MacGyver's resolve crumbled. He was reaching for the phone when the answering machine clicked on.

_'Hi. This is MacGyver. We all know how these things work, so when you hear the beep, go for it.'_

"Mac? It's me! C'mon, buddy, pick up. I know you're there. You must be. I can _feeeel_ it. You know that correspondence course I've been taking in precognition and clairvoyance and all that stuff?" Jack Dalton's voice prattled away, and Mac snatched his hand back as if the phone had suddenly become radioactive.

"Well, let me tell you, buddy, it's amazing! I got myself a bunch of those US Geological Survey maps, and I've been going over them with a dowsing pendulum doodad for one of my homework assignments, and I've got a red-hot strike! Gold, buddy! For real! The only thing is, I'm gonna need a bit of help getting out to the place to check it out – you see, my car kinda got repo'd last week, so I've been stuck at home, well, good thing I've got the correspondence course to keep me busy – "

The answering machine ran out of tape two minutes and thirty-five seconds later. Mac didn't hear it. He was upstairs in his loft bedroom, hastily cramming laundry into a dufflebag. The nearest laundromat was in the main marina services building – bad idea, Jack might be able to find him there. He had his key to Pete's apartment, and he needed to water Pete's plants, and there was a little laundromat on the corner of the block there – but that was kind of a long drive. Heck, maybe he'd just get in the Jeep and stop at the first laundromat he saw, as long as it was in some part of town where Jack Dalton couldn't find him.

- x -

Should MacGyver:

drive to Pete's apartment?

use the laundromat at the marina?

drive around at random until he finds a place to do his laundry?

* * *

_To participate, leave your answer in a review, or go to my Livejournal at bethinexile and vote in the poll there. The direct link is in my ff dot net profile. You do not have to have a LiveJournal account to vote there.  
_

_~Beth_


	3. positive signs

_A/N: Well, that last poll was nice and clear! Driving around at random wins!_**  
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**~ Part 3 ~**

- x -**  
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_Now, don't get me wrong. I like doin' stuff for people. I've been doin' that kinda thing for as long as I can remember, and I wouldn't keep it up if I didn't like it. I like the fact that I can do it. Usually it's satisfying, sometimes it's fun, and for the last several years it's been pretty good as a lifestyle. The hours aren't bad and the perks can be great._

_What is not fun is bein' asked to do stuff that just plain won't work. I'm not big on hopeless causes. Or crazy schemes, either – although, yeah, some people might claim that most of my own ideas are crazy, and maybe they'd be right, in a way, except I've got a pretty good track record of getting crazy schemes to work. That oughta count for something. It's the reason I'm still alive, after all._

_And I really don't like bein' whined at when I've already said no. I suppose that if Jack ever listened to people saying 'no', he'd never get anywhere . . . but he hasn't exactly gotten anywhere so far anyway. _

MacGyver's mood improved as he drove. He knew LA well enough to find enough back and side streets that he could mostly avoid the worst of the traffic, especially on days like today, when he didn't have to go anywhere in particular. The sun was warm but not fierce, and with the top down on the Jeep, the wind blowing through his hair seemed to blow the crankiness away.

He thought he'd been driving at random, but somehow he wasn't surprised when he found himself crossing Chavez Avenue. On both sides of the street, the signs on the shops were now all bright red and yellow splashes of Chinese characters, with smaller English text underneath, often misspelled. Mac wondered for an irreverent moment if any of the Chinese signs were also misspelled, and what they might accidently say if they were.

Mac loved Chinatown. He had a lot of friends here, and he seemed to pick up a few more with every visit. When you did favors for folks here, they remembered, and returned the favor when you needed it, often with interest. It was a good place to have friends.

It was also a good place to find a laundromat, since there seemed to be almost as many laundromats in Chinatown as there were lawyers' offices in the corporate zone of LA or fly-by-night talent agencies on the fringes of Hollywood. Mac pulled up in front of one that had an especially cheerful sign, in both red and yellow, and an empty parking place out in front. Auspicious on all counts.

Inside, most of the customers and all of the staff were Chinese. At the counter, a pretty girl with a waterfall of dark hair changed his singles for a little paper cup of quarters, and gave him a radiant smile in the bargain when Mac thanked her in his execrable Mandarin. An old woman, her face seamed with deep furrows, popped out from an inner room, examined MacGyver with the critical eye of a professional horse-trader, and delivered a torrent of Chinese that made the girl blush. Mac found himself blushing as well, and retreated behind the first row of washing machines.

In the relative safety there, he dumped out his dufflebag and eyed the unpromising contents. He usually just shoved stuff into the machines at random, but the last time he'd done that, one of his flowered shirts had bled multicolored streaks onto every white T-shirt he owned, and he'd had to give them all away to a buddy who ran a tie-dye shirt stand on the beach. The funny thing was that the flowered shirt didn't seem to be any less bright after all that, which meant it probably had more ammo in reserve.

- _special poll: pick any and/or all!_ -

Should MacGyver:

Sort out the dark laundry from the light?

Put the flowered shirts in with the dark laundry?

Put the flowered shirts in by themselves?

Forget the laundry and go flirt with the pretty girl?

Tell the old woman that he'll fix anything she needs in the shop if she'll get someone to do his laundry for him?

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_To participate, leave your answer(s) in a review, or go to my Livejournal at bethinexile and vote in the poll there. The direct link is in my ff dot net profile. You do not have to have a LiveJournal account to vote there.  
_

_~Beth_


End file.
